Threads of Fate
by SydneyLouWho
Summary: AU in which one small shift in Ned Stark's choices causes a chain reaction and changes the game completely. Begins during the events of A Game of Thrones/the show's first season.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so this is my attempt at writing a multichapter fic, which is something that I've never done successfully. Many thanks to namelessrandom for betaing (your advice is greatly appreciated).**

* * *

 **Eddard**

There were two things about truth that Ned Stark knew for certain. The first was that truth is irrevocably connected to honor, and the second was that no truth came without a price.

The particular truth that Eddard had discovered was attached to a rather hefty price. It was a price that could be payed either with his head or the heads of the Lannisters, depending on who discovered his burden first. Ned had never particularly liked the Lannisters, with all of their lies and their reputation for manipulation, but he did not wish death upon them necessarily.

The tome which led both Ned Stark and Jon Arryn to the startling discovery of Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella's true parentage was still open on his desk, worn pages fluttering in the warm breeze that drifted through the open window. He studied the yellowing pages once more, running his finger over the long-dried black ink that formed words upon them. It was indisputable. Every light-haired maiden who ever wed a Baratheon man bore children with hair as black as the ink in which their names were written. And yet Robert Baratheon's children all had the golden hair of the Lannisters. It made no sense, if Robert Baratheon was their true father.

For a moment, Ned wished that he had never found this information, had never followed the trail that Jon Arryn had left. If he was still ignorant, no harm would come to anyone, but Eddard Stark was an honorable man; he could not keep the Lannisters' secret and still view himself as such.

There was no doubt in his mind that he'd have to reveal the supposed heirs' parentage, but to who? To tell a Lannister would be to put a price on his head, and would endanger both his family and his crown. But Robert himself had grown hot-headed and illogical with age and power, and Ned could not know how the King would react. He supposed, however, that Robert would be easier to reason with than a Lannister; the Lannisters had always regarded the Starks as fools.

* * *

Before finding the King, Ned decided that he must visit the godswood. The godswood of the Red Keep was unlike any in the north. He dearly missed the weirwood of Winterfell, where he had so often prayed beside the pond. The great oak in the Red Keep's godswood just didn't seem to hold the power that a weirwood held, with its ancient carved faces and blanched wood.

He prayed anyway, kneeling in the soft grass beneath the tree. He prayed that the old gods have mercy and guide him. He prayed that they grant him the wisdom to find the right words to say to King Robert. He prayed for his family's protection in the turmoil that he knew would follow his talk with Robert.

The leaves of the oak above him rustled in the wind, but he couldn't tell if the rustling was a sign of the gods, or just an average force of nature, signalling the storm that brewed in the darkening sky.

Ned wasn't even sure that the gods could hear him. The more time he spent in King's Landing, the more he felt that it was a godless place. No face adorned the great oak tree and it was said that the old gods only had power where the heart trees could see, but he prayed furiously, because in such a hopeless situation, prayer was all that he had left.

* * *

When Ned reached the King's chambers, Robert was preparing for the hunt that was to commence that day.

"Your Grace," he called, stepping into the room and letting the guards push the door closed behind him.

Robert had his attention on a young Lannister boy, who was lacing his brown leather boots. "No, boy, _tighter,_ " he snapped, and Ned could see the young boy becoming flustered.

"Robert," he tried again, and Robert looked up at him, first with a brief look of confusion, then with a smile as he realized who had called his name.

"Ned," the King said loudly, "did you decide to join us on the hunt?"

"No, Your Grace," Ned replied, his voice solemn. "I'm actually here to discuss a very urgent matter with you. Would you mind excusing the boy?"

Robert gestured for his young squire to leave him, and the boy quickly stood up, bowed, and made his way to the doors. The King motioned for Ned to sit, and he did, taking a seat across the table from the King.

"Now, what matter is so important that it must delay my hunt?" Ned could not tell if the man was truly angry, or if his words were in jest.

"It's a matter of your children, Your Grace. I have reason to believe that you are not their true father."

The King's face fell into a look of utter confusion. "What in the Seven Hells are you talking about?"

Ned paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts and looking around to check that the windows were closed. "The Baratheon line, Your Grace," he began, "has long been known for men with hair as black as night. I was studying the history of the great houses, and nowhere, in any marriage for hundreds of years, has this trait not survived."

Robert's eyes were ablaze. "Ned, if this is your idea of jest, I shall have your head for it."

Ned looked the King dead in his eyes. Robert was deadly serious, his nostrils flaring and his skin red under his thick beard.

"I'm afraid not, Your Grace. I even spoke to one of your bastard sons, who reported that her mother had hair as yellow as corn, and yet he still had hair the color of a crow's feather. The boy was a spitting image of you, Your Grace, and yet all of your supposed children are as far from you as possible." Robert's furious look gave way to one of utter bewilderment. "I could think of no other logical explanation but that the children are not of your seed."

Robert studied his old friend's face. There was no sign of trickery embedded in the steel of Ned Stark's eyes, and the King had always been able to read Ned quite easily. Robert stood, his eyes once again searing with rage. "That _whore_ ," he bellowed, in a voice so loud that Ned was certain it could be heard through the thick wooden doors. He grabbed the crossbow from its hook on the wall. "I will kill that bitch. I will kill her and all of her filthy spawns."

"Robert, be reasonable," Ned pleaded, realizing the error of his words as soon as they escaped his tongue.

"Reasonable? You're asking me to be reasonable? I have just discovered that my wife has been bedding other men and that I have no true heir. There is no way to be reasonable. She's a filthy _cunt_ and deserves to die." He tried to move toward the doors, but Ned was now leaner and quicker than the gluttonous King, and he was able to run forward and prevent him from moving. Robert was now inches from him, and Ned could smell the wine on his breath.

"Just listen, _Robert,_ " he said, in a voice as calm as he could muster. "Cersei does deserve punishment, with that I must agree, but she deserves a trial as well. It is almost certain that she will be found guilty, as there is no virtue in what she has done, but don't you think that we should hear her explanation and let the Gods judge her as they may?"

Robert retreated, a look of defeat upon his sagging face. "Damn you and all your honor, Ned Stark. Damn it all to hell."

He ignored the King's words. Ned wished, more than ever, that he had stayed in Winterfell. In King's Landing, people were always telling him how foolish his honor was, whereas in Winterfell, it was respected and admired.

"You _do_ know what this could mean," Ned drawled, his voice low.

"War," Robert responded, his eyes now focused on the tiles of the floor beneath him, "war with the Lannisters." The words were heavy, and they hung in the air for a moment. Both men were quiet, thinking.

"Should I call for the High Septon, then?" Ned asked, hesitant.

The King nodded slightly, and although this could be counted as a small victory for Ned, he still felt a weight in his chest. _This is no victory_ , he thought, _this is the beginning of a great war_.

* * *

 **I know this chapter was really short, but I figured that, since it's all introduction, it's okay, since there was no good way to smoothly transition into the next events. Expect longer chapters later.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Again, many thanks to namelessrandom for your wonderful feedback.**

* * *

 **Cersei**

Cersei was bathing when the kingsguard swung open the large weirwood door. Five men stormed into the room, two standing at the doorway and three approaching the bath. Cersei stood, not even feigning modesty. She could not pretend to be both modest and brave at the same time. Even Cersei, with her vast experience in deceit, had her limits.

Even feigning bravery was a feat for Cersei, in that moment. She was taken by surprise, and these men were not her men; they served the King and the King alone. If it were a matter of her safety, her own men would have been summoned. Her eyes flitted from one white-cloaked man to the next. Jaime was not among them.

"What is the meaning of this?" she inquired, coolly, as if she had no fear of these men who had invaded her private quarters.

"You are under arrest _,_ " one of the white-cloaked men replied, his face void of emotion.

Her eyes widened in horror. " _I am the Queen._ This must be a mistake. You can't arrest me. _I am your Queen._ " The men grabbed her arms, untouched by her words, and she tried to fight them, but they were stronger.

"At least let me dress," she snapped, her jaw tight and her eyes ablaze.

The guards exchanged glances. One man walked across the room, while the two others still held her arms tightly, their fingers digging into her soft skin. He returned with a sheer robe, which they draped over her only enough to cover her breasts, and hanging loose and unfastened. She didn't even have a free hand to hold the fabric closed.

They dragged her down the hall, kicking and screaming. Her face was as red as the Lannister banner, and she screamed curses at the men.

"Just wait until my father hears of this treatment. I will have you all slaughtered, and that is a promise," she roared, green eyes ablaze in a way that they had never been before.

Her curses grew more deafening and her struggling grew more desperate when she realized that she was being dragged to the dungeons, but her face fell immediately when she saw who else was there. Through the barred window of one of the cells, she could see the faces of her dear Myrcella and Joffrey, and the top of little Tommen's head. Myrcella's face was streaked with tears and her hair was disheveled, while Joffrey's face was streaked with blood. She could hear Myrcella and Tommen wailing for her, and Joffrey screaming curses at the men who threw him in the cell.

"No!" she screamed, her voice weak, "not my children. _Not my babies_."

* * *

Time seemed to move at a sluggish pace as Cersei sat in her own personal hell. The sounds of her children's wails could still be heard from down the hall, and she grew more and more distressed with every pathetic cry. She had managed to tie her robe, once her arms were in chains, but she still felt exposed. The diaphanous fabric left nothing to the imagination, and she felt that she looked more like a common whore than a queen.

It took several hours for Robert to finally appear at the door. She had planned to appear soft and broken, to appeal to his manly need to protect the fragile women, but when she looked at him, after hours of listening to her children crying, she could feel nothing but hatred.

Her nostrils flared and her face was drawn tight as she looked up at her husband.

" _On your knees for me, bitch?_ If only I'd seen you like this before, you wouldn't be here," he quipped, laughing a humorless laugh that echoed on the stone walls that surrounded her.

"What is this about, _Robert?_ " She bit down on the last word, the word _Robert_ tasting sour on her tongue; his name had always tasted sour, but in that moment, it tasted worse than it ever had, of spoiled milk and hatred.

"You are a deceitful woman, _Cersei Lannister_." His voice was uncharacteristically cold, and it chilled her to the bone.

"Do you forget that I am a Baratheon by marriage?" she hissed.

"You are no Baratheon," he retorted, "and neither are your children."

The color drained from her face, leaving her skin a deathly white. "I don't know what you're talking about." Her voice shook, betraying the confidence that she had been trying so hard to convey.

"Those children, those monsters of the seven hells, are not my children, are they?" He came closer to her, bringing his face down to meet hers. Were she a foolish woman, she would've spat in his face, as she so desperately wished to, but she was much too clever for that. "Those children aren't mine, _are they_?" he asked again, inches from her face. A few wisps of his beard brushed her face and she shivered. His breath stank of wine.

Her lips remained in a tight line. She knew enough about the ways of the law to know that she should admit nothing prior to her trial.

Robert slapped her cheek, hard, sending her onto the dirt floor with a scream. She pushed herself up onto her hands. "You're a monster," she roared, her voice raw and cracking.

"No, Cersei, the monster is you." Robert turned in the dirt and walked back out of the cell, not even glancing back. She collapsed to the ground in a heap, sobbing, her breath ragged and her chest heaving.

When she finally stopped sobbing, she felt nothing but pain. Her cheek still stung from where Robert had smacked her; a jewel on his ring had caught her cheek, which only added to the pain.

Cersei looked down at a puddle that had collected near her from water dripping through a leak in the ceiling. She could see herself just barely in the filthy, clouded water, but she could see her reflection all the same. One cheek was covered in dirt, and the other was covered in blood.

* * *

Cersei did not know how long it was until Ser Barristan dragged her out of her cell, but it seemed like an eternity.

By the time they took her on the long walk through the Red Keep, Cersei was numb. She walked solemnly, with not a curse uttered. Ser Barristan pulled her along when she dragged behind, and the chains should've hurt her when they chafed against her already-raw skin, but she felt nothing.

The court was full, with both familiar and unfamiliar faces staring her down. She scanned the crowd, but she could not find her father or Jaime. Right in front, however, was Catelyn Stark, with Tyrion Lannister seated beside her, bound in thick black chains. Beside them was Stannis Baratheon, who must've travelled from Dragonstone to attend. Cersei supposed that this was the cause of the long wait for the trial; Robert had to make sure that all who would testify against her were present.

King Robert and Ned Stark, of course, were seated at the far end of the room, with the third judge's chair occupied by Renly Baratheon. Cersei fixed her posture as she neared them, lifting her chin and pushing back her shoulders despite the fact that, with her dirty face and clothes, it was unlikely that anyone would view her as dignified.

The High Septon uttered a short prayer, opening the trial.

Cersei was the first to testify. She swore an oath to seven gods that she had no belief in, and her questioning began.

Before Robert asked his first question, though, he gestured to the guards who were stationed at the opposite side of the room, and they pulled the doors open. Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen were dragged in, chained together, tears welling in Joffrey's eyes and pouring down Myrcella and Tommen's cheeks. Cersei wanted to scream for them, but she held her tongue; she knew that it would just cause her to look pathetic and weak.

"Cersei Lannister, are these children of my blood?" Robert gestured toward the three children who now stood directly in front of him.

Cersei paused. Her original plan had been to lie, and to appeal to the court with some emotional testimony of her innocent, but looking at the skillfully picked witnesses and judges, she saw that there was no use; her head was as good as gone. She stared at her children's faces. Joffrey would've been King someday, and Tommen and Myrcella would have been married and have castles of their own. For once, Cersei could not save herself, because her self was a lost cause. _Well_ , she thought, if I can't save myself, _I may as well save those who could keep the Lannister name going_.

"Do you want me to repeat myself? _Are these children of my blood?_ "

She breathed deeply and looked Robert dead in his dark eyes. "No," she said simply, "they are not yours."

The crowd buzzed, their whispers bouncing off the marble walls of the court. Rage brewed in Joffrey's eyes, and he started to say something, but the guard covered his mouth with his gloved hand. Robert cleared his throat loudly and the court was silent once again.

"And who," Robert asked, maintaining his uncharacteristically solemn tone of voice, "is the true father of these children?"

She swallowed. Cersei knew not whether they suspected Jaime, but she figured that it was safer to lie. "I don't know," she said, raising her voice, "I don't remember their names."

"So you admit to adultery?" Robert asked, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.

"Yes," Cersei said, her jaw clenched tight and her head still held high, "but do _you_?"

"What are you implying, _whore_?" Robert had lost all traces of his calm demeanor and was now fuming, his face burning crimson.

"I am implying that you have countless bastards," she replied, regaining her cool demeaner, "while I only have three."

The crowd once again became a mass of shocked whispers. Of course, no one was shocked to hear that Robert had bastard children; they were shocked that Cersei brought the subject up.

"And yet I never claimed that those children were anything but the bastards that they are. Who is on trial here? Because, if I remember correctly, it's _you_."

Cersei smiled slightly, shaking her head. "You never loved me," she said, quietly enough to sound wistful, but loud enough that everyone could hear her. "I loved you, in the beginning, or the prospect of you, at least. You were everything I could've hoped for, a king, tall and handsome, but you always loved another. A dead girl. You loved her cold, lifeless body more than you ever love me." She paused for a moment. Ned shifted in his seat at the mention of Lyanna. "After we lost our first boy, you didn't want anything to do with me. How was I supposed to give heirs to a man who hated to touch me, who would rather fuck a thousand common whores than his own wife."

Robert looked to Eddard, who shook his head slightly. "Bring up the first witness, Stannis Baratheon," Robert called. Stannis stood and bowed slightly to the King, before taking his place at the witness stand.

"Lord Stannis of the house Baratheon," Ned Stark began, giving Robert a reprieve from questioning, "please tell us what you know of Cersei's adultery."

Robert turned to Stannis. "As you know, Lord Stark, Jon Arryn and I unearthed the secrets using the same means that you did. We looked through records and spoke to Robert's bastards and their mothers, and we came to the startling conclusion that Cersei's children are not Robert's as well."

"And you retreated to Dragonstone rather than making the King, _your_ _brother,_ aware of this?"

"Immediately following our discovery, Jon Arryn took ill and died of a sickness no maester could identify. I see no coincidence in that. I fled because if the Lannisters could murder Jon Arryn before he could speak to the King, they could murder me too."

From the way that the crowd went silent then, Cersei thought that they might as well have been made of stone.

Her blood boiled. "I did not kill Jon Arryn," she insisted, "and I refuse to take the blame for a crime I did not commit."

"Silence!" Robert growled, "Continue, Stannis."

Stannis looked to Cersei. "Jon Arryn was more involved in the unearthing of Cersei's secrets. I have told you all that I know, Your Grace." The last two words sounded awkward coming from Stannis' mouth. He had never quite accepted that his drunkard brother was the King, while he was simply the lord of an island that no one gave a damn about.

Robert nodded. "Next witness, Lady Catelyn Stark!" Ned called.

Catelyn walked to the podium quickly, glancing at Cersei as she passed with eyes of daggers. Cersei returned the sharp look. "Lady Catelyn," Ned Stark began, speaking as if she was not his own wife, but just another witness at the stand, "tell us what _you_ know of Cersei's sins."

"Certainly," Catelyn said with a slight nod. "My son, Brandon Stark, was a very skilled climber, before his _accident_. He knew every broken stone and every small handhold of Winterfell's walls. He had never fallen before and yet he _fell_ when the Lannisters were in Winterfell. I thought it a coincidence until one night the library in Winterfell caught fire. It was a distraction, and whoever set the fire thought I would rush out to see what was going on, but I stayed with my son, and I was with my son when an assassin burst through the door."

The court was again full of gasps and whispers. "The assassin nearly killed both my _comatose_ son and myself," she continued, "and if Bran's direwolf hadn't ripped out his throat, we would both be dead. Now, I'm not the most clever woman alive, but it was obvious to me that Bran had seen something that he was not supposed to see, and that whoever ordered the assassin did not want Bran to wake up and report the reason for his fall. I kept the dagger that he held and, when I asked about it, I was told that it belonged to Tyrion Lannister. I had assumed that it was Tyrion who sent this assassin, but when I was told of Ned's findings it became clear. My son saw Cersei with a man other than the King, and she pushed him from the tower. And when she realized that he had not died by the fall, she paid a man to slaughter him in his sleep." Catelyn breathed heavily now, furious beyond words.

"I did not push your son from that window," Cersei said quietly, rolling her eyes. Her words were technically true, which gave her a smug sort of satisfaction.

One by one, witnesses took the stand, servants and handmaidens all claiming to have seen her lying with other men. Cersei knew that none of them had actually witnessed anything, but she knew how this game was played. People would say anything with the promise of payment, and her promises were worth nothing anymore.

Tyrion Lannister was the last to be called as a witness. He hobbled up to the stand, chains still adorning his wrists, and a servant brought him a small pedestal to allow the small man to be seen over the podium. In any other situation, she would have laughed at the fact that Tyrion needed a pedestal, but Cersei trembled; Tyrion knew much more than he should.

"Cersei never loved me," he began. "In fact, she hated me, ever since I was just a wrinkled little baby fresh out of our mother's womb. She blamed me for killing our mother and regarded me as a monster. This is why, Your Grace, I can say that I knew nothing of the parentage of her children. Cersei would never confide in me, because she has never trusted me. It is for this reason that I wonder why I am upon this podium in the first place." They were lies. They were all lies, and this somehow infuriated her more than if he'd uttered the full, filthy truth. He had lied for the sake of himself and Jaime, not for her.

The King, albeit surprised by Tyrion's testimony, let him sit. He stood, now facing Cersei directly. "Do you have anything to say about these accusations?"

"Spare my children," she said, quiet, "they are innocent. They knew nothing, and did nothing wrong. Please spare them." The King said nothing.

Robert looked to both of the men that flanked him as he stood before the Iron Throne. Both Renly and Eddard nodded slightly, Ned's nod more hesitant than Renly's.

"I now declare that Cersei Lannister is sentenced to death."

* * *

Robert wasted no time in executing Cersei, insisting that her execution had to be performed that day. Cersei was unsure if this was due to Robert's impatient nature, his fear that someone had a plot to free Cersei, or a mixture of the two.

The sky was golden when she stepped outside, the sun slowly sinking behind the silhouette of the Red Keep. A crowd was forming; word traveled fast in the capitol. Cersei stepped into the light, the rays of the dying sun reflecting off of the golden threads that were dispersed within the crimson dress they'd let her wear for the trial.

She stepped toward Ilyn Payne tentatively, a scared little girl trapped in the skin of a lion. Upon the stage were Robert, Ned, Catelyn, Stannis, Renly, and Tyrion. Her children were nowhere to be seen, and for that she was grateful. They had known her as a lion and she wanted them to remember her as such.

"I am truly sorry, sister," Tyrion said as she passed, so quietly that she'd barely heard him. _He's no brother of mine,_ she thought.

"Do you have any last words, Cersei?" Robert asked, loud enough for the crowd to hear him.

"You'll regret this," she whispered sharply, using the last ounce of fierceness left in her body. She dearly hoped that her words were true.

She knelt and looked toward the crowd, a mess of shocked faces, with some cruel smiles mixed within. Ilyn Payne moved her golden hair from her neck and she shivered at the touch of his hands against her skin.

Cersei closed her eyes, willing the tears not to fall from her eyes. The air outside was warm, but she felt so, _so cold._

 _Ilyn Payne raised his sword and the world went black._


End file.
